


It's Loud Outside, But Thanks To You It's Just As Loud In Here

by dieForgotten



Series: Humanstuck Erikar AU [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Both of em are spooked, But less so Eridan, Criticisms of fictional countrys border security, Criticisms of the Vatican Citys name, Cuddles, Gross Couple Stuff, Headcanons are kept to a minimum, Humanstuck, Kissing, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Swearing, Theyre honestly terrible at it though, Thunderstorms, Trans Male Character, fear of thunder, it's karkat, so go wild, very mild
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-28 20:28:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10838844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dieForgotten/pseuds/dieForgotten
Summary: Eridan and Karkat are trying to sleep, when a storm hits. Fortunately, Eridan has the presence of mind to distract the both of them from the thunder. Rated Teen and Up for swearing and mild themes of sexuality.





	It's Loud Outside, But Thanks To You It's Just As Loud In Here

It's dark. Of course this is because it's nighttime. And the ominous, rolling clouds outside your window don't help matters. You hold him tighter in your arms as he starts to doze in the damn near fortress of blankets he insists are necessary.

He shifts on top of you, his messy mop of auburn tickling your nose. Your sleep shirt is drenched in a salty moistness that keeps reminding you of your past stupidity. 

 _"Kar, don't you think w-we hawe enough? It's gonna get a lot w-warmer owernight,"_ Of course you realised the idiocy of that statement when he glared at you over a heap of quilts and pillows. Mr. Always Freezing His Ass Off would not concede the smallest throw pillow from the mass of fabric and stuffing that you used to recognise as a bed. You distinctly remember deciding to wear your shirt. God that had to have been the worst decision of your entire 22 years of existence. 

Drenched though you are, you are committed to remain still. That focus makes it all the more shocking when a clap of thunder causes the both of you to jump out of your skin.

"FUCK!" This exclamation rings in your ears for a few seconds, the face of the culprit buried in your sweaty shirt, shaking slightly.

"You okay?" Your voice quivers a bit, but his shaky response outdoes your fear.

"N-no, I'm not. I'm about the furthest thing from fine. I've crossed the line of fine over into Shittsville. I'm so far from that border right now that I've lost my passport and I'm about to be finger-fucked by the Shittsville TSA for the safety of all Shittians."

"Are w-we talkin' tow-wns or countries here?" You indulge him in his nervous babbles, and decide that you would probably tackle this security agent before he got a chance to read him his rights.

"Probably something close to Vatican City. A country, but someone decided to give it a really shitty name, because Paul was the only one who brought any ideas to the meeting and it was his birthday so no one had the heart to tell him that calling a country a 'city' was pretty much the worst move since the invention of the horror genre," 

Another rumble and in the same second, his arms and legs are around you, like an angry, oversized fanny-pack.

You know logically that thunder can't hurt you, but you know as a human, and especially as someone who is out at sea for days at a time, that there is a deep instinct that seems to miss most. People way back in the days of cavedwellers needed this to stay alive, but, with everything being lightning-proofed, people can enjoy a mug of cocoa and watch the bolts of death streak down from the sky. Karkat had not been as lucky as to quell that fear.

"Ew, you're all sweaty," 

"I blame you," 

You snake an arm around his waist and hum the calming tune of an old sea shanty. He gives a sigh and kisses as close to your lips as he can reach. He gets your chin. Not pausing in your tune, you hoist him up by his butt so you can kiss properly. He let's out a small noise of surprise as you caress his hips and pepper little kisses on his face.

He flinches as another crash comes in perfect sync with the bright shock of lightning. You kiss him lightly and move your hands to attempt to pry his thighs from your waist. Failing that, you run your hands over his boxers, eliciting a hum of contentment from your scruffy captor.

It had always amazed you that someone so traditionally cherubic had such a vocabulary of rage. He demonstrates this when five seconds after a flash, an admittedly quieter rumble paints the soundscape with a baritone depth.

"SONOFA SHEEP FUCKING FARMER!" It has an almost poetic quality to your time-trained ear.

You kiss him again with a little more force than you meant to, and his garbled mess of teeth crash into yours.

"Jackass," he murmurs to the side of your face.

Over the next few minutes, the storm sails off far enough to stop jolting the two of you awake and you doze off, faces smushed together, snoring softly. The next morning you'll wake up swimming in your sweat with Karkat drooling into your ear, but for now all is well and you've survived another loud night.


End file.
